The storm outside battered the windows, its cold fingers scratching against the glass as Lennon sat at the kitchen table, sipping her tea. The weather reflected her mood—heavy, turbulent, and far too familiar. The rain wasn't new, nor was the weight she carried in her chest. It had become her constant companion, though she'd learned to keep it at bay, to lock it up inside where it couldn't break free.
Lennon was used to being alone. She had gotten used to the silence. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt, or that it didn't suffocate her sometimes. That was exactly how it felt now—like the air had thickened, too heavy to breathe.
A rustle from the window broke her from her thoughts. She turned and blinked in confusion. A small piece of parchment had lodged itself against the windowpane, catching her eye. It was unusual—no owl, no familiar knock at the door.
She rose from her seat, her heart quickening in her chest for reasons she didn't fully understand. As she opened the window, the paper fluttered inside. She unrolled it, her stomach plummeting as she recognized what it was.
A wanted poster.
Her fingers trembled as she read the bold letters at the top:
"WANTED: MYSTERIOUS DARK WITCH, LAST SEEN IN LONDON"
There, in the center of the page, was a grainy photograph of a woman who looked eerily like Lennon. The woman's sharp features, her dark hair, and her cold eyes—Lennon's mother.
Her breath caught in her throat. The photo alone was enough to send her pulse into overdrive, but the accompanying details about the woman's suspected ties to dark magic were the last thing she expected to see. Lennon's mind raced. Her mother had never been a Death Eater, but the thought of her being linked to dark magic still made Lennon shiver with dread. The last thing she wanted was to be connected to that side of the wizarding world again.
Lennon felt the room spin. The world around her seemed to fade away, leaving only the dark silhouette of the woman in the photo.
Her heart pounded in her chest as her hand began to shake uncontrollably. The paper slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the ground. It was like a trigger—everything she had pushed down, everything she had worked so hard to forget, came crashing back.
Her mother's cruel words. Her coldness. The way she had turned into a stranger after Lennon's father had been killed by Death Eaters. The neglect. The abuse. All of it came rushing back, and before Lennon knew it, the walls of her small flat felt like they were closing in on her. The familiar panic gripped her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs.
She staggered back, gasping for breath, her vision blurring. She tried to hold onto the table, but it felt like the floor beneath her had disappeared. Her head spun, her heart raced, and the room felt as though it were growing smaller with every passing second.
"Lennon?" Theodore's voice was thick with concern, and she barely registered him stepping into the room, his face etched with worry. "Lennon, are you okay?"
Lorenzo was right behind him, his eyes scanning her face, trying to understand what was happening.
Lennon's breath came in short, panicked gasps, her vision closing in. She could feel the familiar weight of fear clawing at her chest. She wanted to speak, to explain, but her throat felt tight, like the words were trapped inside her.
"Lennon!" Lorenzo's voice was sharp, his hands gently but firmly gripping her arms. "Breathe. Focus on me. It's okay. Just breathe."
Lennon felt herself shaking, her heart racing, and for a moment, she couldn't bring herself to do what Lorenzo was asking. The pressure in her chest was too much. The panic felt all-consuming, as if the very air was suffocating her.
Mattheo entered the room just then, his expression unreadable. He could see Lennon was unraveling, and his usual calm demeanor didn't waver as he moved towards her.
He placed his hand on her back, guiding her into slow, steady breaths. "Lennon, look at me. You're okay. Breathe with me."
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of her ragged breathing and the gentle insistence of Mattheo's voice. Slowly, as the seconds ticked by, Lennon managed to slow the rapid thumping of her heart. The fog in her mind began to clear, and the walls of her flat no longer felt like they were closing in on her.
But even as the panic subsided, the dread lingered.
She glanced down at the table, her eyes falling on the photograph of her father. It was the last photo she had of him—him in his Auror robes, smiling at her with that proud look in his eyes. The same smile that had once made her feel safe, protected.
Her heart ached. She reached out for the photo, clutching it tightly in her hand as though it were the only anchor she had left in a world that felt increasingly unstable.
The sight of her father, forever frozen in that moment, made her throat tighten, and before she could stop herself, the tears began to spill. They weren't just for the loss of her father, but for everything she had lost after—everything that had been taken from her when he died. The safety, the warmth, the love.
The room was silent except for the soft sound of her sobs.
Theodore and Lorenzo exchanged glances, their worry etched on their faces, but it was Mattheo who spoke next, his voice low and steady.
"Lennon," he said, gently, "You don't have to go through this alone. You never have to."
Lennon looked up at him, her eyes blurry with tears, and nodded slowly. She didn't speak. There was nothing to say. She could barely catch her breath as the sorrow swept through her.
Mattheo sat beside her, not saying anything more, just offering his presence. The silence in the room felt safe, and for once, Lennon didn't feel like she had to carry the weight of her past alone.
When she was ready, she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "My mother… after my dad was killed, she became someone else. She… she wasn't the same. She started… she started hurting me. I didn't know how to stop it. She… she turned cold. She wasn't the woman she was before."
Her voice cracked, but she continued, her words heavy with the pain of the past. "When she couldn't handle her grief, she took it out on me. I was just a reminder of him. And after he died… it was just me. Alone. I was just a kid. I didn't know what to do."
The tears came again, but they didn't feel as sharp this time. Instead, they were a release—an exhale after holding her breath for so long.
Mattheo's voice was soft, but firm as he spoke. "Sirius Black and Remus Lupin—they stepped in when no one else would. They gave you a home, a family. They raised you after all that."
Lennon looked at Mattheo, her eyes filled with a silent gratitude she couldn't quite put into words. He was right. Sirius and Remus had been the ones to care for her when the world had seemed too dark, when everything had fallen apart. They had given her the love and care she had craved for so long.
"I… I don't know what I would have done without them," Lennon whispered.
Lorenzo, who had been standing by quietly, finally spoke up. "You've always had people who cared for you, Lennon. We're here now too. You don't have to carry it all on your own anymore."
Lennon's heart ached, but this time it was different. The weight of her past hadn't disappeared, but it didn't feel as suffocating as it once had. With the boys beside her, with their unwavering support, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she could start to heal.
She looked down at the photo of her father, holding it tightly, and whispered softly, "I'll make him proud. I swear it."
And for the first time in a long while, she felt like she might actually be able to.